The Pet
by I-AM-A-BLANKET
Summary: John narrates how he and Sherlock got their beloved 'pet', Sabina. OC, JohnLock, no real time reference other than after the fall, I own nothing but Sabina. More chapters to come! Enjoy!
1. The Beginning

My name is John Hamish Watson. I live in flat 221B, off the corner of Baker Street, with my flat mate, best friend, and dare I say it, boyfriend, Sherlock Holmes. A few years ago, Sherlock and I adopted a stray, right off the sidewalk in front of our building. Her name is Sabina. You may very well ask if she is a cat or dog or some other typical pet. Sabina is none of those. She is neither an ordinary animal, nor an exotic animal. She's not an animal at all. She's human, and is one of the best and worst things that has ever happened to me at the same time.

It would probably be best to start at the very place I should, the beginning.

A Few Years Ago~

"I don't see why you wouldn't want a pet John. I would almost be like raising a child."

I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose. This is the third time that Sherlock has asked me about getting a pet. Though I must admit this is the first I'm hearing about an impromptu child.

You see, Sherlock and I have been, well, together for about five months now. And not together as in always with one another (though we always are), I mean **together** together. As in boyfriends, together. And while I do care very dearly for this man, though the bloody git made me wait for three years before telling me he was alive, I was getting a bit tired of this pet talk.

"Sherlock, a pet is a big responsibility, and we're always running around solving cases, leaving for days on end. That's no good for a pet." I explained.

"But Mrs. Hudson-"

"No, Sherlock. If you want an animal that badly, **you **have to take care of it all the time. No Mrs. Hudson stepping in for you." I cut him off.

Sherlock went quiet. I snuck a quick peek at his face and what I saw surprised me. Instead of being stoic like I thought they would have, his lips formed a small frown. A pout almost. I hurriedly looked away, knowing that I would give in if I didn't. Before I could change the topic, Sherlock did for me.

"John, what is that?"

I looked up, immediately knowing what he was talking about. Up ahead, poking her head out of the alley way between the sandwich shop and the next building was a dirty blond girl. She looked to be about fifteen or sixteen. Old enough to be out on her own, but young enough to still ask why she was. Then I realized why Sherlock asked about it.

She was looking straight at us, grinning to herself. Having to deal with several of these before, I at once recognized what she was and the severity of the situation.

"That's a fan girl, Sherlock. A girl, who likes a certain couple a lot, almost obsesses over them." I answered. "Dangerous for the two of us."

"This little girl?" He asked, in slight amusement.

I just nodded, and watch the girl gather the courage to approach us. She was slightly shorter than I was, about a head shorter that Sherlock. Her green eyes shone with a glint of mischief.

"Hello." She greeted us, obviously American, no accent.

"Uhm, hi." I greeted back.

"Hello. I'm Sherlock Holmes and this is my," Sherlock hesitated and grinned and me momentarily. "Partner, John Watson."

"My name's Sabina." She told us and offered her hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

Knowing Sherlock, I grabbed her hand in his stead. "Pleasure's ours."

"So what is a young girl like you doing around her?" Sherlock's eyes glinted in excitement. "Do you have a case for us?"

Sabina shook her head. "Nope, sorry. I'm just looking for a place to stay."

I looked at her, confused. Sherlock probably noticed more than I did, but this girl looked healthy, clean, and well fed. How could she possibly not have a place to stay?

Next thing I knew, Sherlock and I were standing in the doorway, watching this girl bounce around the room.

"I'm going to live here!" She squealed as she ran about our humble flat, carefully taking in every small detail it had to offer.

"I can't believe she talked us into letting her stay here." I muttered, more to myself than Sherlock. "I mean look at her, she's running around and rummaging through our things."

"Fascinating." Sherlock grinned, watching the girl with amusement dancing in his eyes. "She exhibits no fear whatsoever at staying in a flat belonging to two strange men. Almost like…a pet." He then looked towards me, grinning that impish grin of his and clasping his hands underneath his chin. "Can, can we keep it?"

I gave him a small frown of disapproval as I answered him. "Fine, but you're taking care of it."


	2. Daughter or Dog?

Although I said that, we both knew we couldn't just outright keep a teenage girl we had just met. That very same day Sherlock and I reached out to our friends to see if anyone knew where this girl belonged. I even posted a quick summary about how we met her and her picture to see if we couldn't get anyone to claim her.

And did we ever.

Over the next few weeks we got people pouring into our flat claiming that we had rescued their long lost relative. But it didn't take Sherlock's deductions to tell that none of them were even remotely related to her.

After those few weeks, we were left with a seemingly parentless girl who followed us everywhere. Even Sherlock was surprised at how at home Sabina made herself, not even blinking an eye when we couldn't find her family.

"You're my family." She told us plainly. "You're my mum, and you're my dad." She pointed to Sherlock then to me.

After that, she became part of our daily routine. We would wake up, make breakfast, go to work with solving cases (we tried to leave her home in the beginning, but she'd manage to follow us, so we gave up on that idea), come home, make dinner, and go to bed (She sleeps with us most the time, but will sleep in her, my old, room if we ask nicely). Of course there are variations, but that's the gist of it. We could almost call her our daughter, except that she acted like a human only some of the time.

Mostly she acted like a cross between a cat and a dog. A cat when she's comfortably at the flat with us and a dog when meeting strangers or people she doesn't like. I can think of several examples for the latter.

Doggie Girl Examples~

Sherlock glared at Sabina, finishing his rant.

Sabina pouted and whimpered, forming small tears at the corners of her eyes.

Sherlock's eyes softened a fraction, yet kept his lips pursed and arms folded.

The girl then whined, like that of a kicked dog.

His eyes softened more, his arms gone slack and his expression changed from anger to sympathy.

She whined once more, longer than before.

At that he broke down.

"I'm so sorry I yelled at you!" He sobbed, pulling the small girl into his arms and hugging her. Something he had gotten used to over the time she had spent with us.

At that moment I had come home from running across the street to grab a few sandwiches for lunch. I had heard the last bit of the commotion on my way upstairs, but it wasn't till I kicked off my shoes that I knew what it was about.

My nice black leather dress shoes looked as if they had been mauled by some crazy dog.

"What the bloody hell happened to my shoes?!"

Then it was my turn to glare at Sabina, scraps of leather that used to be shoes in hand.

She whined, like she did with Sherlock to get out of trouble.

"Oh, no. That may work on Sherlock, but not on me." I stated, pointing a finger at her.

She sighed, in what I had assumed was defeat, before darting towards me, grasping the front of my shirt and nuzzling her head into my chest. "I'm sorry."

I, admittedly, blushed in embarrassment. Sherlock might have been used to her hugging, but I wasn't. "You can let go." I told her, awkwardly lifting me arms away from her.

"I'm sorry." She repeated, wrapping her arms around my waist.

I attempted to move out of her grasp, only managing to twist around so that her head was resting on my mid back, her arms still secure around me.

"I'm sorry."

"I forgive you so you can let go now!" I nearly shouted, my face still flush with embarrassment. Then I felt another, longer, pair of arms wrap around me.

"Why are _you _hugging me?" I asked Sherlock, to whom the arms belonged.

"Because it looked fun."


	3. Chapter 2 point 5

**Hey guys! Sorry about the lack of update. The next chapter, ****_Meeting with Moriarty_****, is going to be a big one. I don't feel like chopping it up and posting little bits and pieces as they come, so here's a sneak peek to tide you over until it's finished.** **Hope you enjoy!**

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In a different situation, one where it's not evident until the end, Sherlock and I were walking around a crime scene, the back alley body being too gruesome for Sabina to see. We waited for them to remove it before allowing her to follow at our heels, quietly soaking up every small detail just as she had done with the apartment all those months back. There was a pool of blood right where the body had been, and we could hear the slow drip of it falling into the gutters.

"If I didn't know any better, I would have sworn that this was the work of Jack the Ripper." Inspector Lestrade joked dryly.

However strange, it was true. The body was that of a young woman, it made me shiver to think that she was only a few years older than Sabina, and she had been expertly carved, much like that of Jack's handiwork. It appeared that the victim died of the blood loss due to the plethora of gashes, but we wouldn't know for sure until the ballistics came back.


	4. Ripper Returns?

**Okay, I lied. I will be chopping the story arc into smaller chapters, around 800 words or so per chapter. I'm sorry I lied! TT^TT I didn't know I was lying at the time, I swear! Anyways, new chapter, new characters, new case! Enjoy~**

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In a different situation, one where it's not evident until the end, Sherlock and I were walking around a crime scene, the back alley body being too gruesome for Sabina to see. We waited for them to remove it before allowing her to follow at our heels, quietly soaking up every small detail just as she had done with the apartment all those months back. There was a pool of blood right where the body had been, and we could hear the slow drip of it falling into the gutters.

"If I didn't know any better, I would have sworn that this was the work of Jack the Ripper." Inspector Lestrade joked dryly.

However strange, it was true. The body was that of a young woman, it made me shiver to think that she was only a few years older than Sabina, and she had been expertly carved, much like that of Jack's handiwork. It appeared that the victim died of the blood loss due to the plethora of gashes, but we wouldn't know for sure until the ballistics came back.

"Well, it's obvious that we're not dealing with any off the street serial killer." Sherlock commented, eyes darting all over, taking in things we probably couldn't see.

"What makes you say that?" The Inspector asked.

"Well, for one, the strokes on the victim were too precise. Meaning that whoever did it was a skilled surgeon." He explained, making his way to the entrance of the alley way which was facing towards a busy street. "Also they wanted the body to be found. They left it somewhere where it would be hard for anyone not to notice, yet still not be questioned as an unlikely place."

"If they're a doctor do you think that that lady was a patient at a nearby hospital that made them mad?" Sabina piped up, breaking her usual silence.

Sherlock and I grinned at her simultaneously. Our little pet was becoming a detective.

"It's probable, we might as well check the Paul Rodger's hospital that's just a few blocks away. We may just find something." Sherlock ruffled Sabina's hair and started walking down the street, walking at a brisk pace that made Sabina and I jog to catch up. "Text me if you find anything Inspector."

I would be lying if I said we were greeted warmly. The hospital lobby was crowded, sounding with a chorus of coughs and sneezes. Sherlock and I covered our mouths and noses with our kerchiefs, Sabina choosing the tail of Sherlock's scarf, not wanting to catch the flu that was going around recently. We wormed our way past the sick patients and the nurses rushing about with vaccines and pills, into the office of the head doctor, Paul Rodger Jr.

"Who are you?" A short, black haired man barked, turning away from his conversation with a young dirty blonde woman, obviously in her early twenties.

"I'm Detective Sherlock Holmes." He introduced, taking the kerchief from his face. "These are my associates, John and Sabina Watson."

The man came around his desk at a brisk pace, making a bee line towards Sabina.

"Why, hello there. My name's Paul Rodger Jr., I'm the head doctor here." Paul grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it. "And might I say how lovely you look, Ms. Watson?"

"Mr. Rodger," The assistant started, somberly watching as Sabina wretched her hand away from the man and scurry behind Sherlock. "You don't have time to flirt. These men are detectives and likely want to ask you a few questions."

"Ah, that's right, Ms…" I trailed, looking for a name.

"Katerina." She answered, immediately brightening. "Katerina Riley, may I say that I am a huge fan of your blog Mr. Watson."

Before I could respond, Sherlock cut in. "We were wondering if you had a patient named Clair Fowler here?"

"Yes, she was one of Mr. Rodger's personal patients. She just got out of the hospital yesterday." Katerina explained, her bubbly expression turning to one of perplexity. "Why? Has something happened to her?"

"Hm, I see." Sherlock stated, completely ignoring the girl's question. "Tell me, Mr. Rodger, how long did you tend to Ms. Fowler yesterday?"

"About a half hour, I checked her vitals and gave her a last dose of medicine before sending her out with a clean bill of health. I didn't stay long; I had other patients to attend to." He answered gruffly.

"Alright." Sherlock brooded for a moment before brightening up. "We're done here, let's go."

I looked between Sabina, who was being towed along by Sherlock, and the other two. "Ah, err, um…I'm sorry I have to go. 'S been a pleasure." I waved and jogged off to catch up with my detectives. "Where are we going?"

"Clair's boyfriend's house." Sabina answered, looping her arm through mine.


	5. Breaking Boyfriends

**Another chapter! Enjoy!**

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"Boyfriend?"

"Very observant." Sherlock grinned. "Yes, Clair's file was lying open on the desk; it listed a Mr. Benjamin Clarkson as Ms. Clair's emergency contact. They don't share the last name, and you don't list anyone as your emergency contact, thus he could only be her significant other."

After a short taxi ride, and a phone call to Lestrade, we met up the inspector in front of an unexpectedly large house on the outskirts of the city. We paid the driver and walked up the gravel path leading up to the peach colored home. Lestrade gave the door three short rasps and waited for a short moment.

"I'll be right there!" We heard a young man shout, followed by the sound of footsteps on creaky stairs. We listened as those footsteps reached the door, and watched as the door opened to reveal a young blond man in his late twenties. "Hello…"

"Hi, Mr. Clarkson, I assume. I'm inspector Lestrade, and this is detective Holmes. We'd like to talk to you about Clair Fowler." The graying man introduce curtly, as he always did.

"Uh, sure. Call me Ben." Ben opened the door wider and led us to the living room portion of the house. "What's wrong with Clair?" He asked, getting straight to the point.

"She's dead."

That's a reason we liked having the inspector with us when we had to deal with these situations. He's had this job for years, and was more adept than any of us to handle the news. He's, regretfully really, unfazed by giving out this information, not only to Mr. Clarkson, but dozens of others who've lost their loved ones.

Benjamin licked his lips and swallowed, no doubt his mouth had suddenly turned to cotton. He tried numerous times to put his thoughts into words but was increasingly unable. Suddenly Sabina appeared next to him, I hadn't noticed she was missing from the room until she did. She handed him a glass of water, which he took numbly, and placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

After downing a generous amount of water and properly thanking Sabina, he turned to us. "I-I don't understand. How? Was…was she sick?"

"Sick?" Sherlock echoed curiously.

"Yeah." Ben nodded, rolling a now empty glass in his hands. "Clair, she…She had a bunch of health issues. She was always sick."

"Interesting, but no. She was regretfully murdered." Sherlock informed him. "Is there anyone you can think of who would want to hurt her? Family or friends?"

"No, Clair's an only child and her parents died in an accident a few years ago. She got along with everyone, they all loved her…" Ben trailed, looking at the cup in his hands, deep in thought.

"What is it?" Sabina piped up, gently moving the blonde's shoulder so that he would look at her.

"There was this one guy, a doctor or nurse at the hospital, who didn't really like it when she turned him down." Ben answered, first looking the Sabina then the rest of us. "She wouldn't give me a name, saying that it would only complicate things if I got involved."

"I see." The detective hummed, thinking. He suddenly turned on his heel and walked towards the door. "Thank you for your time."

"We're sorry for your loss." The dirty blond girl squeezed his shoulder and followed after her 'mum'.

The inspector and I repeated her words and followed in her footsteps, the inspector taking his car as we called for a taxi.

"Who do you think did it?" Sherlock asked, as we got into the cab.

"Who do I think did it?" I echoed.

"Yes."

I sat back in my seat thinking over all of the evidence we had. "Well, I think it was Paul Rodger."

Sherlock hummed. "Why?"

"Well, he seemed rather closed to discussing what happened with Clair, and he never mentioned her history of bad health. He didn't seem at all concerned when we started asking about her." I explained and hesitated before continuing. "I don't like him."

"Because he flirted with our daughter?" Sherlock asked, nodded to the sleeping form beside him.

"No." I muttered, turning my gaze to the scenery blurring past the taxi. "I just don't like him."

"Alright. I believe you."

Although he said that, I knew he didn't. And he would never tell me why or how until the very end, just after the hazy picture was finally just a bit clearer. And even though it annoyed me to no end, be it the thrill of the chase, I couldn't ever see myself getting tired of it. I chuckled and shook my head, much to Sherlock's confusion, and continued to stare out the window, contemplating all that had come to pass today.


	6. Simply Stuck

The next morning I was jolted awake by the phone. I sat up in bed for a moment before untangling myself from the sheets. I stretched and yawned on my way out to the living room where we kept the phone, leaving the other two curled up next to each other.

"Hello?" My voice scratched from just having woken up.

"Hey, John, it's me, Lestrade."

Sherlock walked in, dressed and ready, just after my **_short_**conversation with the inspector. "Where to?"

"Well if you hadn't noticed yet, I'm not dressed." I gestured to myself, pointing out the fact that I was in my plaid fleece pajama pants and lacking a shirt.

"But I love this outfit." Sherlock grinned impishly and kissed my cheek, which caused me to flush.

I marched out of the room in a huff, shooing the half asleep girl out so that we both could get dressed.

We arrived at the crime scene, several blocks away from the last scene on the opposite side of the hospital, just as the body was being taken away. We walked up to the inspector, Sabina dragging her feet all the way, and he turned around to tell us what we had missed.

"Joyce O'Mara, red head, twenty-eight, came from Scotland to get medical treatment for an unknown disease according to the slip in her back pocket." He looked up at us after reading what was on the clipboard. "She looked like the last one. She's got a brother, but he's still in Scotland."

After a quick look around we headed straight towards the hospital, the inspector following us this time.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes! Mr. Watson!" Katerina greeted us warmly as we entered the near empty office. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"We're looking for your boss." Lestrade answered abruptly.

"Oh, sorry, he took a personal day off today after he worked late last night. I'm in charge in his stead. I'll try to answer what I can." She offered and sat behind the desk and gestured to the seats in front of it. "Please, sit." So we did, Sabina sitting on Sherlock's lap seeing as how there were only three.

"So what's happened?" She asked, almost eagerly, folding her hands and leaning across the large mahogany desk. "Did you find Clair's killer?"

"Not yet." I answered. "Did you care for a girl named Joyce?"

"O'Mara?" Katerina seemed surprised by the question. "Yes, we took her in just the other day. Why?"

"We found her body this morning not far from the hospital. Could you tell us what she was here for?"

"Yes, she had a very rare form of cancer; we were working on treating it when she said that she suddenly felt better, thanked us for our help, and went on her way." She answered, leaning back in her chain. "It was very odd. By our research she should have felt the same; the chemo treatment shouldn't have started to work for another couple of days."

"Who were the doctors treating her?" Lestrade cut in.

"Mr. Rodgers and myself." The dirty blonde answered, turning her gaze to the inspector, muttering the rest. "Mr. Rodgers took over most of it. He says that it wasn't a job he could hand over to a woman so lightly."

After a few less helpful questions, it appeared that we had hit a dead end. No family, no friends, no enemies, no where she was staying, no connection to the last victim. It appeared like two separate motives for murder by the same person. Well, actually, there were a few connections. Both were female, both went to the same hospital, and both were cared for by Paul Rodgers. Though it was highly suspicious that he had worked a late night at the same time Joyce was murdered. We looked and it turned out that he hadn't bought a plane, ferry, or train ticket signaling that he was leaving the country, or the city for that matter. Of course it was all very circumstantial and with no hard evidence it wouldn't hold up in court. There was nothing to go with.

At least that's what it seemed. However I thought that Sherlock was keeping something up his sleeve, as he always did, to be unveiled at the very end, the end of an intricate web of unseen words and actions. Noticed by a brilliant man who took note of everything and placed the red string in its place, something so thrilling and beautiful that no matter how many times it occurred, the events prior made all the difference and one couldn't simply get enough.

Yet even the brilliant Sherlock held his tongue, no witty remarks or clever clues to be shared. No microscopic bread crumb trail to follow. Absolutely nothing.

We were just…stuck.


	7. Meeting Moriarty

**Hahaha, I almost forgot that this arc had to end with an example of how Sabina acts like an animal XD Well this is the end of that story arc, soon comes another! Enjoy! **

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"How could these cases possibly be connected?" Sherlock paced back and forth in the living room, conversing with his skull.

"Angel."

"Let's see, both young women, both went to the hospital, both cared for by Paul."

"Angel."

"Isn't him. He's a lecherous creep, but not a murderer."

"Angel."

"Think, Sherlock, think! You cannot be stuck on a simple serial case like this! What's the connection?!"

"Angel."

Sherlock whipped around to face the blond girl sitting on the couch. "Sabina, love, darling, kitten, light of my world. Please stop with the 'Angel'! I'm trying to think!"

"Angel of Mercy."

Sherlock looked nearly about to explode, but then paused to let the words sink in. Regaining his composure, he placed the skull back on the mantle and faced her once more. "Explain."

"Angel of Mercy. A type of serial killer. Kills people about to die, or undergo unjust hardship. Both of the victims were being treated and not getting any better, the only thing the hospital could do was prolong their death and take their money." Sabina answered calmly, as if her Mum's outbreak never happened. "Also, both were patients of Paul Rodgers, a man who liked to flirt with and harass women. Perhaps the killer hated seeing that and wanted to point all evidence to him."

"If that's the case, then…" Sherlock trailed, his face immediately brightening. "We have to go to the hospital. John, call Lestrade."

I looked up from my book and nodded, following his orders.

A call, a cab ride, and about twenty minutes later, Sherlock, Sabina, Lestrade, and I quietly approached the hospital morgue. The corridor was pitch black except for the light emitted from the morgue itself. We could hear someone hum a sickly sweet tune as they worked.

We had asked at the front desk for any patient filling the description of young, female, and incredibly sick and got the name of Martha Kanya. We went straight to the morgue after finding out that she wasn't in her room and the staff told us that she checked out.

Lestrade nodded to the other officers and they rushed in, guns pointed at the culprit, who hands were stained red from young Martha's blood.

They dropped their scalpel and put their hands up and away from the table as the detective placed handcuffs on the very shocked Katerina.

"Wha- I—it's not what it looks like!"

"Oh, really?" Sherlock asked as he entered the room. "Because I believe it's exactly what it looks like. You hated how Paul hit on the poor defenseless women in the hospital. You hated how they couldn't be treated and all the hospital could do was take their money before they died. You wanted to put them out of their misery, painlessly of course, but have it look like a crime of passion. Pin it on Paul. Have him take the fall, leaving you in charge to care for the sick, push research on the incurable diseases and have less untreatable patients."

And there it was. Sherlock's big reveal. If it weren't for the severity of the situation, I would have smiled.

"Katerina Riley, you are under arrest for the murders of Clair Fowler, Joyce O'Mara, and Martha Kanya." The inspector announced as he lightly shoved the woman towards the door.

"Wait! Wait! I have one last request, for Sherlock!" Katerina shouted, catching the inspector by surprise and causing him to stop.

She twirled out of Lestrade's grip, not trying to run, but instead to look at Sherlock, who face revealed no emotion, but I could see the subtle surprise in his eyes.

"Yes?"

"I want to touch your hair."

~One walk of shame later~

"Well, you did it again Sherlock. Three murders, no connection, and yet you found the culprit." Lestrade remarked after putting Katerina inside the police car.

"It wasn't me; it was Sabina who suggested that there was an angel of mercy killer." Sherlock stated, brushing a hand through his recently ruffled hair.

"And where is the little up-and-coming consulting detective? It's unusual not to see your little shadow around."

"She's at home, we thought that Katerina might be dangerous and didn't want to risk it." I answered.

Lestrade chuckled and shook his head. "Alright, thanks again guys."

The next day was calm and we all decided to take a walk around the city. In a particularly rundown side of town Sabina noticed her shoe was untied and stooped down to tie it.

"Sherlock, where are you going?" I called out as Sherlock strolled into the abandoned worksite.

"Nowhere in particular, John. Just walking." He called back.

I stayed with Sabina until her shoe was tied again, and then we hurried after him. Right as we were about to turn a corner, I heard an unmistakable chuckle. I grabbed her wrist and pulled her to my chest as I put my back against the wall and peeked around the corner.

There, twenty some yards away from Sherlock, stood Moriarty.

"It's been far too long since I've seen you, Sherlly!"

"Not long enough, if you ask me, Moriarty."

At the mention of his name, Sabina started growling. She had heard of our past encounters with him and hated what him with a burning passion. I had to cover her mouth with my hand so that we wouldn't be found as their conversation continued.

"Aw, you don't mean that. I noticed you liked my gift."

"The copy cat case? That was your doing?"

"Oh, did dear Katerina forget to mention me? Oops." Moriarty grimaced slightly and shrugged his shoulders. "Things seemed rather dull lately; I thought you might appreciate a good murder."

"Under normal circumstances, yes, but never from you." The consulting detective spat.

"Now, now, Sherlock dear. Katerina did all that on her own. I only gave an encouraging push in the right direction." There was a mischievous glimmer in the mad man's eye. "You should know all about those."

"What do you want?" Sherlock growled, evidently growing tired of the conversation.

"I just wanted you to know I was still here, after all, you haven't been calling." He pouted. "And I wanted to warn you. I am a very jealous person, as you know. And I don't appreciate you spending all your time with John. Next time we meet won't be as pleasant as a chat in a construction site."

"I'm very disappointed in you, Moriarty." Sherlock sighed, and even though he tried Moriarty couldn't keep the look of surprise off his face. "You obviously haven't been keeping very good tabs on me. Otherwise you would have known that John and I have adopted a pet of sorts."

He then turned his head to where Sabina and I were hiding, still keeping his eyes on Moriarty. "John, you can let her go now."

I didn't bother to question him and released my grasp on the girl who had been struggling in my arms during their conversation.

She shot out like a bullet and made a bee-line towards Moriarty, and it had to be the funniest thing I ever saw.

As she ran towards him, Moriarty let out an involuntary girly scream, and Sabina started to maul him, hitting, kicking, biting, scratching, and at one point he begged her not to ruin his face.

At first I just walked next to Sherlock and watched, in utter shock. Soon enough I was holding onto my sides, leaning on Sherlock for support, laughing like a mad man.

"I take back every mean thing I ever said and thought about her."


End file.
